y terrible one may be assumed from the fact that every civilised
European nation has found it absolutely necessary to put such places
down with a strong hand.

At the time Lewis Stoutley visited the town, however, it was not so
singular in its infamy as it now is. He was ignorant of everything
about the place save its name. Going straight to the first hotel that
presented itself, he inquired for the Count Horetzki. The Count he was
told, did not reside there; perhaps he was at the Casino.

To the Casino Lewis went at once. It was an elegant Swiss building, the
promenade of which was crowded with visitors. The strains of music fell
sweetly on the youth's ear as he approached.

Leaving Antoine outside, he entered, and repeated his inquiries for the
Count.

They did not know the Count, was the reply, but if Monsieur would enter
the rooms perhaps he might find him.

Lewis, remembering the expressed desire of Nita, hesitated, but as no
one seemed inclined to attend to his inquiries, beyond a civil reply
that nothing was known about the Count he entered, not a little
surprised at the difficulty thrown in his way.

The appearance of the salon into which he was ushered at once explained
the difficulty, and at the same time sent a sudden gleam of light into
his mind. Crowds of ladies and gentlemen--some eager, some anxious,
others flippant or dogged, and a good many quite calm and cool--
surrounded the brilliantly-lighted gaming tables. Every one seemed to
mind only his own business, and each man's business may be said to have
been the fleecing of his neighbour to the utmost of his power--not by
means of skill or wisdom, but by means of mere chance, and through the
medium of professional gamblers and rouge-et-noir.

With a strange fluttering at his heart, for he remembered his own
weakness, Lewis hurried forward and glanced quickly at the players.
Almost the first face he saw was that of the Count. But what a changed
countenance! Instead of the usual placid smile, and good-humoured
though sad expression about the eyes, there was a terrible look of
intense fixed anxiety, with deep-knotted lines on his brow, and a
horribly drawn look about the mouth.

"Make your play, gentlemen," said the presiding genius of the tables, as
he spun round the board on the action of which so much depended.

The Count had already laid his stake on the table, and clutched his rake
with such violence as almost to snap the handle.

O